


How Much I've Been Touching You

by sinuous_curve



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Cock Worship, Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-06
Updated: 2011-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinuous_curve/pseuds/sinuous_curve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The problem with America, as Erik sees it, is that it’s such a damned big country that being told there’s a place to stay, “in the next town over,” can mean a journey of anywhere from ten minutes to two hours. And since he and Charles are forever forgetting to ask for clarification along with directions, it becomes a game of Interstate Highway Roulette as to how long they’ll be on the road before the next small town rises up out of the flat Midwestern nothing. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	How Much I've Been Touching You

**Author's Note:**

> My deepest thanks to lyo and dancinbutterfly for betas. For sabrina_il, as a small thank you for all the help she's offered with my other stories.

The problem with America, as Erik sees it, is that it’s such a damned big country that being told there’s a place to stay, “in the next town over,” can mean a journey of anywhere from ten minutes to two hours. And since he and Charles are forever forgetting to ask for clarification along with directions, it becomes a game of Interstate Highway Roulette as to how long they’ll be on the road before the next small town rises up out of the flat Midwestern nothing.

When they finally arrive at the mythic next town over, having passed through the last Iowan hamlet in time for dinner at the local diner, it’s been just over ninety minutes of monotonous nothing and Erik might possibly have resorted to using his power to haul their little red car down the road at a bit of a brisker pace.

He doesn’t catch the name of the town. They all sound the same to him, relentlessly Protestant monikers like Prudence and Charityville, dropped into the middle of nowhere. It doesn’t precisely make him homesick; it’s been so long since Erik stayed in any one place of his volition that the idea of home has become an abstract. Rather it underscores his disconnect from his surroundings. Apple pie America is quite oddly in love with the idea of itself.

Regardless, he’s entirely grateful to see the blinking neon sign heralding a hotel. If he’s reading the map correctly, they’re only thirty or so miles from their next set of coordinates Cerebro extracted from Charles’ brain. It shouldn’t take them any more than hour at the most to get there in the morning. Charles parks the car in front of the motel and cuts the engine with a long exhalation of breath that leaves him slumped in the front seat with his eyes closed.

“Don’t give up now,” Erik says wryly. “We’re so close to a bed.”

“Everything is so spread out in this country,” he huffs, straightening in his seat. “I don’t know how they stand it.”

Erik shrugs and unlocks his door. “Perhaps they like having the room to breathe.”

Quickly, they extract their bags from the trunk and push through the door of the motel into a small lobby lit by a buzzing fluorescent light. There’s an elderly man sitting behind the counter listening to a small radio with comically large metal antennae thrust into the air. The calendar hanging on the wall is two months out of date and he barely looks up when the bell over the door lets out a cheerful ring to announce their presence.

Erik exchanges a look with Charles and tamps down a smirk with some effort.

“Excuse me, sir,” Charles says, taking a step forward with his most charming smile in place. They’ve found it’s usually easier for him to take the lead. People are less apt to become nervous at an English accent than a German one and, for some reason, Xavier trips fairly easily off their tongues while Lehnsherr tends to be a linguistic conundrum. “Do have any available rooms?”

The man cracks open one unimpressed eye. “Yeah, only the one, but it’s got two beds. If you don’t mind sharing.”

Erik can see the stiffness that rams down Charles’ back and fights the urge to do something untoward. It’s quite nearly funny that Charles, who has so little to fear from the world at large, is the one who is most constantly afraid. Erik watches impassively as Charles writes his name in the register and accepts a key from the man. He sinks back into his chair as soon as their business is concluded and doesn’t react at all as Charles and Erik push back through the door.

“I think he might have been suggesting something indecent,” Erik says in mock indignation while they walk along the row of doors that line the side of the motel. “I can’t imagine what could have given him that idea.”

Charles shoots him a _look_ , unlocking #12. “Must you antagonize everyone?”

“It’s not my fault if they find my existence antagonizing.” Erik brushes past him into the pitch-black room. “Would you prefer I apologize?”

“No.” Charles closes the door and snaps on the light. “But one of these days you are going to land us in trouble.”

Erik drops his bag onto one of the beds. “I can handle trouble.” The room is small and dingy, with threadbare carpet and wallpaper of an indeterminate color peeling at the corners. The beds, made up in thin blankets and gray stained sheets, sag perceptibly in the middle. Through the open door on the far wall, Erik can see garish tile lining the walls and floor of the bathroom and a very small tub with a sheer plastic curtain hanging limply from the rod. There’s a crack in the mirror over the sink.

Charles sets his bag beside the chipped dresser and throws himself on one of the beds. “Sometimes I think you crave it.”

Erik rolls his eyes just a little; he thinks personally that Charles might do well to have a little more trouble in his life. He can be somewhat distressingly academic in his view of the world. “I believe in being prepared,” Erik says, removing his jacket and laying it across his sad little excuse for a bed.

Charles makes a hummed noise that might be agreement or disagreement or mere acknowledgement. That, at least, has a touch of wisdom about it. For all their quick intimacy there are places they don’t touch very often. Charles has a very rosy view of the world.

“I’m going to wash,” Erik says and skirts around the bottom of his bed to cross the six steps into the bathroom. The tile is even more garish when lit by the overhead light and Erik is genuinely pleasantly surprised that the water runs out the tap clear instead of stained red with rust. He turns the cold as far as it will go and splashes his face a few times to clear away the grit and dust. His back feels tight from his neck all the way down from so long spent in one position. He’s tired, too, but filled with a kind of restless energy that doesn’t lend itself to sleep.

The whole idea for the roadtrip across American was Charles’ and Erik can’t explain even to himself why he said yes. It would be much faster the to utilize the resources the CIA has handed to them; planes and cars and cash flow. America is so sprawling, it takes literally days to get from one coast to the other. Erik didn’t spend the years he did learning what he has to end up sitting in the passenger seat of a car touring around the countryside.

He understands Charles’ motivation. He has a vested interest in saving the country from itself. Erik cares about Schmidt and, yes, he knows those interests lay twined together to a certain extent. But still. He has no illusions that Charles accepts what Erik has to do.

“I can hear you thinking,” Charles says suddenly, standing in the doorway with one arm braced over his head. Erik jumps at his voice, accidentally splashing a bit of cold water on his collar. “If you really want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

Erik turns off the tap. “I know. You’ll just ask me to stay again.” He shifts his gaze from Charles’ reflection over his shoulder to Charles himself, standing with his shirt untucked and half the buttons open.

Charles shrugs. “I believe we can save the world.”

He has never asked whether Erik _wants_ to save the world, but Erik isn’t in the frame of mind for philosophy. It’s too endless between them and it always seems to come down a fundamental difference of perspective that unsettles Charles and affirms Erik. It’s the same reason they never discuss what they plan to ask of the mutants they’re finding; fight for the future of your country or fight for the future of yourself.

“God bless America,” Erik says derisively.

Charles doesn’t rise to the bait with his pretty ideologies; he’s learning. Instead, he holds out his hand. “Come here.”

Erik raises his brow at that. There is a typical pattern to their coming together that begins with Erik making the first move, he suspects so that Charles can sleep easier at night telling himself he was merely going along with it. Their coupling is very much done in the dark and it’s quite easy to say there are good reasons for that. Erik says nothing because of Charles, though the mandated silence irks him on a fundamental level.

He lays his hand in Charles’ and allows Charles to lead him from the bathroom and back into the bedroom proper. Charles stops him at the foot of the nearer bed and gently pushes Erik down to sit on the end. “I’m glad you’re here with me,” he says, finishing off the buttons of his shirt. “I’m glad you told them it has to be just us.”

“They would have seen weapons, not people.”

Charles shrugs out of his shirt and tosses it aside. Then he undoes the buckle his belt and the button of his trousers. His expression is so utterly focused as to be a little charming. He’s seen Charles flirt with women, using his bizarre little line about genetic mutation and Darwinism and the pinnacle of evolution that only seems to extend to pretty girls, not actual mutants.

“Are you seducing me?” Erik asks lightly and color floods into Charles’ cheeks.

“I thought I’d already done that,” he manages, unzipping his fly and pushing down trousers and boxers together. His cock has begun to stand up and pay attention and Erik takes a moment to appreciate the novelty of Charles’ lack of circumcision.

Erik snorts. “Is that how it happened?”

He’s somewhat unprepared for Charles to fall to his knees between Erik’s legs. “I want to make the most of this time,” Charles says in a moment of honesty that lands neatly between them. He curls his fingers in the fabric of Erik’s shirt and pulls it untucked, then up Erik’s chest, and over his head, and away.

Charles pauses for a moment, then, observing Erik with all his scientist’s intensity. Almost gingerly he lights his hands on Erik’s shoulders. He leans in and fits his nose to the hollow of Erik’s throat and inhales. Erik’s chin fits neatly on the top of Charles’ head and he allows himself a moment of resting there while Charles’ thumbs stroke rhythmically over his collarbone.

“I love the way you smell,” Charles says, lips moving against Erik’s skin. “I keep trying to classify what it is, because it can’t be shampoo or soap. We’ve been using a different brand every night in every motel. But it’s something on your skin.”

Erik is more than taken aback by the words. He swallows down a tangle of sentences that wouldn’t make sense and have no place in the impermanent way in which they live. He doesn’t expect that he and Charles will outlast time and difference and the consequences of who they are. Eventually, Erik knows he will do something that Charles cannot understand and, high in his ivory tower, cannot forgive.

Impermanence dictates a certain level of distance, but Charles knows how he smells.

Charles hands then ease down his shoulders and splay across his chest. His mouth flutters in a small, chaste kiss and then follows the same route over the rise of Erik’s collarbone, down the solid line of his breastbone. There’s a very small depression in center of his chest where the bone dips down just slightly. It’s not visible; Charles only knows it’s there because he found it in early explorations of Erik’s body. Charles tongue flicks into it and Erik sighs softly.

“What is this for?” Erik asks softly, planting his hands on the bed and leaning back so he can look at Charles better.

Charles shifts back on his knees and looks up at him, eyes very blue and very wide in the sickly light from the single overhead bulb. “I like touching you,” he says, mouth pulling into a small frown at the corners. “Please.”

It’s the please that pushes into the center of Erik’s chest and settles there. Erik holds fiercely to his choices, he guards them. “All right,” he says, cocking his head.

Deftly, Charles shifts back a few inches and hunches over to untie the laces of Erik’s shoes. His fingers are steady and delicate in their touch. He pulls them off Erik’s feet and sets them next to the bed, lined up neatly side by side. Then Erik’s socks, peeled away, folded together, and tucked into one shoe. Erik can see the light indentations in the skin from the tongue sat all day.

After a moment’s hesitation, Charles bends and kisses the top of Erik’s foot.

“Charles,” Erik says, extending his hand on instinct. “You need not--”

“I want to,” Charles interrupts him, looking up. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

Erik nods his assent. Do unto others and all that, though Erik cannot imagine what it would take for him to willingly kneel before anyone.

He watches Charles collect himself, curled in with his head bowed. Slowly, he leans forward and presses his forehead to Erik’s knee and Erik slides his hand around the solid curve of Charles’ skull without hesitation. His hair is quite soft and grown just a touch longer than he knows Charles prefers. He only just hears Charles small sigh of pleasure at the touch. Erik closes his eyes for a moment; they are both somewhat starved for intimacy.

The moment lasts for longer than Erik expects it to, then Charles straightens and shakes his head a little. “I once knew a girl who could undo belt buckles with her teeth,” he says, eyeing Erik’s trousers speculatively. “I never could work out how she did it.”

The sudden change in tactic is a touch obvious in Charles shifting away from his exposed parts and Erik follows him more than willingly. He doesn’t really have a great deal of room in his life for other people to matter. Not yet, at least. “I can’t begin fathom. Perhaps she had exceptionally strong teeth.”

Charles nods. “Perhaps.”

He doesn’t use his mouth to unbuckle Erik’s belt, though his hands are a lovely enough sight as it is. It only takes him a few moments before he’s unthreading the well-worn leather from Erik’s trousers and letting it slither to the floor. Charles takes a moment to palm Erik’s cock through the heavy fabric and Erik rumbles out a noise of pleasure. “Don’t tease,” he sighs.

“I’m not,” Charles insists. He manages the button with one hand, then the zipper. “Lift up a moment.”

Erik pushes his hips up from the mattress and Charles pulls his trousers and boxers down to his thighs. He’s not particularly thrilled at the idea of his bare skin against blankets that haven’t been washed in who knows how long, but he’s not so concerned that he’d trade Charles on his knees for hygiene. Charles wiggles them down his legs and off and crumples them into a ball beside his shoes.

Charles pushes up on his knees and smoothes his hands down the length of Erik’s thighs. His tongue flicks out over his mouth and he bites down on his bottom lip.

“Did you just lick your lips?” Erik asks.

“I--” Charles burns a little redder. “And if I did?”

Grinning, Erik shakes his head. “Nothing at all. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.”

It’s entirely possible Charles mutters something about making Erik see things as he bends down, but there isn’t enough time between the mumbled word and the moment Charles' mouth lights on the head of his cock for Erik to come up with a proper response. Instead, he manages, “ _Charles_ ,” hissing the name between his teeth like a curse.

Over the years, Erik has had his fair share of mouths on his cock, though always as the result of restless nights when he needed someone to touch him to assure him that his skin was his. And since the inauguration of his and Charles’ physical relationship, he’s had Charles’ mouth or hand more nights than he hasn’t. But still, there is something striking about the way Charles knows Erik’s cock and his preferences. No clashed coupling in the dark, however passionate, can match.

Charles moves away after that singular touch, which despite its brevity is still enough to have Erik almost fully hard. He latches his mouth to the sensitive skin on Erik’s inner thigh and sucks hard. His mouth detaches with an obscenely wet pop and he immediately turns to echo the kiss Erik’s other thigh. Erik can _see_ the bruise red mark that springs up and he suspects he’ll feel it for at least a day or two.

Charles chases the kisses with his tongue. He licks a stripe on either thigh from knee to groin, getting close enough for the heat of his skin and breath to send a jolt through Erik’s cock, but not so close as to offer any contact or friction. Erik has to bite down with some force on the inside of his cheek to keep from begging Charles to get on with it already. Charles tries very hard, but devotion always seems to be tempered with teasing.

Of course, the fact that he knows Erik responds to teasing could arguably point toward a nuanced understanding of how best to show his approbation for Erik. Truthfully, in the moment, Erik’s cock isn’t much interested in the reasoning, rather than the heat of Charles’ lovely little mouth.

It seems an age of kisses before Charles finally returns his attention to Erik’s cock. He circles one hand around the base and cups Erik’s balls in the other. The touch is shocking and Erik huffs, digging his fingers into the bed to keep himself still. He is entirely conscious of the power Charles has in that moment, even as it’s cut through with a steadily growing roar of pleasure. Charles draws a few slow strokes of his palm down Erik’s cock until he’s hard enough to feel a bead of moisture at the head.

He begins by licking a slow stripe along the thick vein on the underside of Erik’s cock. He traces the line of it with infinite care once, then repeats the gesture. Erik can hear his blood beating in his ears and he wants to curl his hands around Charles skull and take and take and take. He grits his teeth against the sensation and the lovely obscenity of Charles’ tongue.

Charles then curls his tongue around the head of Erik’s cock, suddenly remembers he has the ability to move his hands in coordination with his mouth, and begins to pump with infinitesimal strokes. His hand pulses around Erik’s balls, which is a sensation that’s utterly strange and arousing at the same time. Erik can feel tension coiling in his thighs and stomach along with the heat.

When Charles finally opens his mouth and slides his lips down the length of Erik’s cock, it is enough to tear a groan from the bottom of Erik’s lungs, along with a curse that’s a polyglot of all the languages he speaks, since none of them on their own can convey the depth of feeling. He watches Charles’ head bob and his shoulders flex and it is a thousand times more than anyone could reasonably be expected to endure.

“Charles,” Erik huffs, “Charles, I’m going--”

Charles pulls off and, likely with the goal of murdering Erik, rubs Erik’s cock along his open mouth with his eyes closed in something like bliss. If Erik weren’t already teetering on the brink of climax that sight would have been more than enough to send him careening over the edge and he comes with such force that he curls his shoulders inward around the contraction of his muscles.

His come falls on Charles' open mouth and cheeks, eyes suddenly thrust open so all Erik sees is their blueness for a protracted moment of pleasure. In the very back of his mind, where all semblance of logic thought has gathered, he thinks it is a pity that circumstances are what they are. Beneath that, he refuses to acknowledge the small bud of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, Erik will find a way to convince Charles of what needs to be done.

“Come here,” Erik growls and Charles pushes upward, setting his elbows on Erik’s knees and pressing his hands to Erik’s hips. There’s something both enraptured and guarded in his features, eyes flicking between Erik’s gaze and down at his hands.

Erik touches his fingers to Charles’ mouth and the sticky mess striped there. It’s much different to see his come on the skin of someone whose name he cannot remember than to see it on Charles, who knows him so intimately (almost too intimately, Erik thinks) and has chosen the act regardless.

Deliberately, he sucks his finger into his mouth and notes both the oddity of tasting himself and the soft sigh that slips from Charles. “Thank you,” Erik says, using that same hand to push Charles hair away from his face.

Charles smiles a little. “No, thank _you_.”


End file.
